In This Moment
by Wren Gebel
Summary: Short snapshots of various moments in characters' lives numbers of years after the war. As cannon as possible. Please enjoy! ONE-SHOT!


**A/N: Written for the QLFC Season 3 Round 4. I'm Keeper for the Wasps and my prompt this time was to write about the emotion "happy" without using the word happy.**

There was a feeling of electricity in the air. It made Harry's bones vibrate and his skin stretch over his face in a smile. His eyes squinted over the large field of rattling wheat behind the Burrow. To his right, the wheat had been pressed down by a large tent, the same one they had used at Bill and Fleur's wedding.

He, Ron, and Hermione had all finished school now. After the war Hermione had gone back to Hogwarts, Ron began working in George's joke shop, and Harry had gone straight into Auror training.

It was May. The sky was high, the wind was yellow, the world was being born again, Voldemort was gone. Harry felt great. He'd never felt so free before. He'd never felt like he could breathe so easily.

He took long strides in the direction of the party. The celebration was for their graduation, but it was more than that. It was for everyone. For a full year of success. For letting go and surging forward.

Harry wasn't sure how invitations got out, but almost everyone he knew had been invited. He had made a list for Mrs. Weasley of all the people he thought needed something like this. Seamus, Dean, Neville, the Patill twins, Luna, Cho, Oliver Wood and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team went on right away. After more thought, he began adding people he didn't know quite as well: Denis Creevy, Nigel Wolpert, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and other students from different houses.

He'd thought about the list carefully. He didn't just want the people invited to be his friends. He wanted them to be people he had gone through things with. Which was why, after rigorous fighting with himself, he added two more families to the list, though he doubted they'd so much as R.S.V.P.: the Malfoys and the Dursly's. They hadn't.

Loud music was floating across the field, igniting him. He felt light; he could float right into the air.

Seamus was standing toward the entrance of the tent with a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand and saw Harry first.

"Hey'ya, Harry!" he said, clapping Harry on the back.

Harry smiled at him. "Hello, Seamus. It's good to see you."

"This is great." Seamus gestured to the go-lucky witches and wizards. "Seeing everyone from Hogwarts."

"Yeah it is," said Harry.

He looked out over the excited faces and felt content.

 _One Year and Six Months Later..._

Seamus balanced himself on his broom and blew warm air over his frozen knuckles. His ears were beet red, his nose like a cherry, his eyes watering from the crisp wind, and his mouth permanently frozen in a grin.

"Pass me the Bludger!" he yelled.

Dean circled the makeshift Quidditch pitch and grasped the handle of the Bludger Bat. He narrowed his eyes at the oncoming Bludger and swung, feeling the satisfying crack of the ball on the bat.

Seamus watched the ball zoom toward him. _This time,_ he thought. _This time I'll hit it._ He swung hard, smashing the Bludger Bat to splinters on the ball.

He raised his arms in the frigid air and whooped at the top of his lungs. Dean pulled up beside him and hi-fived his best friend.

"Think I'm ready to try out for the Kestrels yet?" Seamus asked. His breath pooled out in front of him like a cloud.

Dean laughed. "I think more practice wouldn't hurt."

"Yeah, you're right." He looked down at the stump of a Bludger Bat in his hand, feeling the sting from the hit like power in his fingers. "Give me your bat," he told Dean.

Dean handed it over. "What are you going to do?"

Seamus smirked. "I'm going to pretend this is a Quidditch Match and try to knock you off your broom!"

Dean's eyes grew. "No!" he yelled, but Seamus was already chasing after the Bludger.

"You better start flying!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He hugged his broom and put as much distance between him and Seamus as he could.

Seamus caught up with the Bludger and gave it a good whack. As he watched, the ball hurdled right at where Dean would be in two seconds. His chest swelled and he nodded his head. _I can do this_ , he thought.

 _Nine Months Later..._

Dean sat in the cold waiting room outside the Care of Magical Creatures department in the Ministry. He clutched the thick tube in his left hand that contained sample drawings for the department's new project.

"Mr. Thomas?" came the receptionist's voice. "Ms. Granger is ready for you."

He nodded and stood up smirking. This was going to be easy. He knew Hermione. They'd always been on good terms and he was confident she'd like his poster ideas.

The door to her office was slightly open, so he let himself in. She was scribbling away behind her desk, and for a moment, he almost thought he was seeing her back at Hogwarts.

She didn't look up so he wrapped his knuckles on the wooden door frame.

"Dean!" she said, smiling widely. "It's great to see you! Take a seat and show me what you've got. I'm sure it will be wonderful, you were always such a great artist!"

"Thanks," he said, grinning widely and pulling out the sheets of paper from the cardboard tube before sitting in the chair facing her desk.

He unrolled the first drawing and smoothed it out on her desk.

"It's just an idea. I could clean it up and do a better sketch if you pick one you like," he said.

Hermione leaned forward to get a good look at his very realistic drawings of hippogriffs.

"Wow," she said and he beamed.

"Remember at Hogwarts when I drew that picture of a lion for the Quidditch game and you charmed it to change colours?" Dean asked and she nodded. "Well, I was thinking about the same thing here. We could get the background to change or the animals to move. I think it would catch a lot of eyes."

"That sounds brilliant!" she said.

"I've got a couple more." He took out the rest of the drawings and tried to smooth them out. They tried to roll right back up and bounce across the desk.

Hermione stood up. "Why don't you bring them in next week? We'll hold a small meeting for the members of the Fantastical Animals Protection Committee and vote on which one we like."

"Sounds good," he said, pumping her hand.

"Dean, thank you so much for doing this. A lot of people think this program is a bunch of foolery. It's hard to get good artists like you to help us design things."

"It's my pleasure," he said, almost skipping from her office.

His legs felt jittery and his arms shook in excitement. He could see his whole future ahead of him; designing and creating posters and adds and artwork for the Ministry. He felt great.

 _One Month Later..._

Hermione readjusted the bags in her hands. The sacks were heavy and the handles were thin, cutting into her skin. Despite her situation, she blinked cheerfully at the colourful Christmas lights that were shining and twinkling up and down the whole of the muggle street. The sky was black and the street lamps faded to an orange glow, making the holiday colours stand out even more vibrantly.

"What did your dad say he wanted again?" Hermione asked her fiery companion.

Ginny shifted her own bags between gloved fingers. "Oh, what's it called?" She twisted her hand in the air like she was beckoning the memory to her. "It's for eggs... Something about sorting them?"

Hermione remembered. "A yolk separator?"

"That's it!"

She laughed. "I never thought I'd be buying someone a yolk separator for Christmas!"

"If it's muggle and it's functional, Dad wants it," Ginny chimed.

Hermione gleefully shook her head and sucked in the sharp air. Christmas was her favourite. Everything sparkled and glittered. Lights seemed brighter, music seemed more cheerful, everything seemed better in general.

They stepped into a little shop for kitchen supplies that was packed with muggles doing their holiday shopping. Ginny, like her father, became fascinated with many wonders of muggle kitchen utensils.

"Is this a yolk separator?" Ginny asked, twisting the handle of a hand beater and watching the light glint off the silver whisks.

"No," Hermione laughed, taking the beater from her hand and setting it back down.

"It's like a sun catcher, isn't it?" Ginny asked. "Does it spin in the wind?"

"No." Hermione shook her head, hiding a smirk.

After a few minutes of forcing their way through the thick crowd, Hermione found what they were looking for: an array of three different coloured yolk separators hung off the metal hooks on the wall. Next was the real dilemma: picking a colour.

"Which one?" she asked Ginny who was looking at the utensils in bemusement.

"You could get him the yellow one and tell him it's only for yellow eggs."

Hermione rolled her eyes, taking the silver metal one.

"Okay," she said when they managed to get back into the wintry air. She took out her list of names and crossed off one. "One down, and only one... two... six more to go!" she exclaimed with a laugh. Ginny groaned

 _One Year and Five Months Later..._

Ginny was crouched over the garden in the backyard of her newly purchased home. The hot sun was beating down on her back, giving her what she was sure was a nasty sunburn.

She was squinting at a plant which resembled somewhat of a cactus and a snake in the way it was twisting and tying itself in knots. The twirling vines looked like furry cat tails and she was tempted to see if they felt as soft as they looked, but since she didn't know what the plant was she decided against removing or touching it herself and called in an expert.

Neville was bent over beside her, scratching his chin at the swaying tails.

"Is it dangerous?" Ginny asked him.

"Very," he said. "It's lucky you didn't remove it yourself. See that fur?" He pointed at the plant with his wand, but careful not to touch it. "Thin poisonous needles. You'd be lucky if you only had to remove your arm."

Ginny cringed. "How do we get rid of it?"

"Easy really. I remember having to remove one at my Herbology school. They really like dry heat so if you get a bunch of cold water you can drown it out."

Ginny stood up, straightening the kinks out of her back. "Thanks, Neville! I'll get some ice water right away. I don't want any animals brushing up on it. You know, when Harry and I bought this house they didn't tell us there was a dangerous plant problem. This is the third plant I've had to remove this week! Yesterday I found some Devilsnare growing under the porch!"

"It's still a nice place," he said, looking up at the fairly modest home.

"Yeah," Ginny sighed contently, also looking up at the top windows and following the eaves with her eyes. "And it feels right."

Neville smiled at her. "It's good to see you and Harry doing well."

She grinned at him mischievously, a glint in her eye. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked.

He started, looking panicked. "I-I guess?"

"I just haven't told Harry yet and I need to get it off my chest. I can trust you. Promise you won't tell Harry?"

"Umm..." he hesitated. "I promise?"

She bit her lip in excitement. "I'm pregnant!" she squealed.

 _One Year and Eleven Months Later..._

Neville folded his hands around his Butterbeer and leaned forward to talk to Harry.

"Can I ask you a question, Harry?" Neville asked him.

Harry took a swig of his drink and nodded. "Sure, Neville."

He fidgeted, his eyes shifting around the lines on the wood table. "How did you-" he cleared his throat. "How did you know when Ginny was pregnant? I mean, what did she look like? What was different?"

Harry cocked his eyebrow at him. Blowing out a puff of air and running his fingers through his hair he said, "I dunno. I guess I became suspicious when she started declining the alcohol. Why do you ask?"

"I think Hannah is pregnant," he blurted.

Harry's eyes grew.

"She's always complaining about her feet hurting and she gets sick every morning and last night she demanded we have oranges and hot sauce on toast. And I found some books on pregnancy and all this weird stuff starts happening and all that stuff was on the list." He took a deep breath, trying to control his rapid breathing and panic attack.

Harry laughed. "Sounds like you might be a father, mate!"

It was Neville's turn to look in shock at Harry. "Oh my God! What do I do?!"

"Calm down. You'll be fine! Just think about having a little someone calling you 'dad'. First time I heard James call me 'dad' was one of the best feelings."

Neville chugged his Butterbeer and tried to imagine a child padding around his home, crawling in between him and Hannah in bed, smearing spaghetti sauce over the walls. He smiled shyly, chuckling to himself at the thought. "Okay," he whispered.

 _Nine Years and Two Months Later..._

Harry walked next to the trolley into Kings Cross Station. The place was a buzz of muggles and wizards alike. He, James, Albus, Lilly, and Ginny walked swiftly between platforms nine and ten onto nine and three quarters where the brilliant red express was already packed with giddy students waving to their joyfully-sad parents from the windows.

"This is it, James. Are you excited?" Harry asked his eldest son who looked a bit green around the edges.

"Yes," he answered confidently, despite his sickened appearance.

James was pulled into a bone-crunching hug by his mother and a received a hair tousle from his father.

"Bye, James!" Lilly called to him as he gathered his suitcase from the trolley.

"Teach me all the magic you know when you come home for Christmas!" Albus shouted.

Harry beamed somewhat sadly at his son as he heaved his suitcase up the train steps. He was reminded of himself many years ago, trying to haul the heavy trunk into the train. He remembered finding the compartment with the boy with flaming hair and meeting the girl with large front teeth only hours later.

As the train blew its whistle and embarked toward the greatest home Harry had ever known, he hoped his son would find his own versions of Ron and Hermione and a home at Hogwarts.

 **Please don't forget to favourite and review!**

 **With love,**

 **Wren Gebel**


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